


I Wasn't Expecting That

by Of_Heaven_And_Hell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, SAAAD, but also cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Heaven_And_Hell/pseuds/Of_Heaven_And_Hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Jamie Lawson's song "I Wasn't Expecting That"</p><p>Murphy gets sick and meets Bellamy, and chooses to live even if it's for a little while.  </p><p>Or, it all started in April and it all ended then too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wasn't Expecting That

"I love you, I just want you to know that. That without a doubt in your head, you can say that I love you with everything I have. I'd like to think I've always made that clear but I'm not delusional. I know I'm mean and stubborn and broken and I don't admit that I have feelings nearly as much as I need to. I know it's hard, or rather that it was hard, living with me. But you took it all like a champ, and I'm sorry that I'll never be able to repay you.

But anyway, just in case I fucked up before, I'm writing this now."

 

// It all started in April. Murphy had just come back from his doctor's appointment, getting out the car and sauntering up his driveway with the same cocky smirk as usual plastered to his face. To any onlooker, it was just a normal day for him.

He knew different.

His legs were lead, his body struggled to breath, his hands shook.

It had been with the same fake nonchalance that he walked into the waiting room an hour before; the same false calm that he displayed as he heard the news.

Lung cancer.

It wasn't really surprising (he'd been smoking since fifteen) but still it stunned him to his core. He barely registered any of the doctors words after that, choosing to stare at Dr. Woods' family photos instead. The man had done well, Murphy had to give it to him. A pretty girlfriend and a small kid. He was noticing just how green her eyes were as the doctor got his attention once more.

"Do you have any family? Or roommates? We usually make sure patients have someone to rely on, since your health may be deteriorating in these next few months."

Murphy thought about Miller, his best (only) friend and roommate. There was no way in hell that he'd ask him, or anyone, for help. A quick vision of himself falling to the ground like one of those Life Alert commercials dragged a shiver down his spine. He'd ended up telling Woods no, because "I'd rather kill myself than ask for help" seemed a little unreasonable.

So here he was, fumbling to keep his hand steady long enough to put his key in the door when he heard it for the first time. The sound of a grown ass man singing taylor swift lyrics. It was confusing and all around unpleasant, despite the man's gifted abilities. He turned in enough time to see the, admittedly very hot, guy walk back to the house across Murphy's with his golden retriever at his feet.

The moving van is still in the driveway and Murphy thinks it's pretty ironic that they're both having life-changing days.

 

// It doesn't take long for Miller to notice a difference in Murphy. Still, the latter man hides his sickness as long as possible; not mentioning it until his roommate demands answers when he finds him vomiting blood onto his bedroom floor.

 

// It doesn't take too long for Murphy to push him away after that. He kept Miller around because he was nice, simple and he never questioned Murphy's choices. Now the older man had seen him vulnerable and he began seeing the pity he despised hiding in his friend's eyes. So he did what he knew how to do best; hurt him.

He yelled, punched holes in walls and broke the man's stuff. He did anything he could to piss him off. It hadn't worked at first, Miller blaming it on the cancer, but eventually Murphy got him to leave. Like they all did.

 

// With his only friend gone, he didn't do much. Going to the bathroom became the extent of his cardio, as even going to the kitchen became too hard. He stopped going to work, slept till 10:30 everyday. He would've liked to sleep longer, but that asshole with the golden retriever walked by his window every morning, some terribly overplayed taylor swift song falling from his lips.

 

// In hindsight, he probably became a little obsessed with the mysteriously-unmysterious dog walking man. It wasn't like he had the energy to do much else. So sometimes he watched him walk past, wondered why he never saw a girl leave the house with him.

He finds the answer a few days later, when a coughing fit wakes him front sleep late at night, or early in the morning. Through his window he sees a girl doing the walk of shame out of the house and he laughs to himself. So, he's that kind of guy.

 

// Eventually, he has had enough of pop lyrics at 10 in the morning. He yanks his window open, fully prepared to roast this man's entire life. The words get stuck in his throat as the brunette makes eye contact with him, and instead of the sarcastic remark he'd planned for actual months leaving his mouth, he merely says "At least sing one of Swift's good songs."

"Okay, which one?" The man's head tilts up to look at Murphy and, fuck, he never knew the guy had freckles. They were the most attractive thing he'd ever seen, and it was completely all their fault that he forgot every taylor swift song he'd ever heard. After a horrendous beat of silence, he can finally think again.

"Breathe is her best one." Murphy declares, rolling his eyes at the freckled creature standing in his driveway.

"But that's sad?"

""No, it's good. And that outweighs the sad."

Bellamy nods to himself as he processes the words. "I like the way you think," he laughed, petting his dog. "I'm Bellamy by they way, and this is Ginger."

"Murphy, and she isn't orange?"

"She isn't even a she," Bellamy's smirk causing his breath to catch in his throat, "Anyway, I have to get going, so I'll see you around. The pleasures been mine." He winks before turning to go to his own home.

 

// The next morning, and every morning after that for a month, Bellamy sings Breathe.

 

// One night, the freckled man stops by with coffee. His image through the peephole likely gives Murphy a heart attack. He leaves his neighbor outside for much longer than socially acceptable as he cleans up his apartment, shoving everything in closets and bedrooms. The clock ticks as he hope over the sofa, spraying air freshener as he runs through the house, picking up empty Chinese food containers and bloody tissues.

He flings the door open just as Bellamy is turning to leave, and the smiles that graces the latter's face is enough to make up for the burning in Murphy's lungs.

 

// It becomes a routine, Bellamy picking up Starbucks after work and driving straight to Murphy's. They talk about anything, everything. Except for his sickness, his weakness. It's easier talking to a stranger than it is to people he actually knows. Sometimes they don't talk at all. Those are Murphy's favorite nights, the ones that leave him and Bellamy cuddled on the couch watching dumb movies. It makes everything seem lasting, whatever that truly means.

 

// It doesn't occur to him until one Friday (days that Bellamy sleeps over) that they aren't strangers anymore. They aren't even friends, somewhere between the cuddles and lingering touches they'd passed that. Murphy had dragged himself home from yet another appointment. Dr. Woods was disappointed, to say the least, that he wasn't taking his medication, that he wasn't considering chemotherapy or radiation. It was already confirmed that he had about a year, so why make his last moments miserable? 

The older man had come in with his key, unnecessary given the fact that Murphy hardly left the house, and placed both perfectly made Starbucks orders on the coffee table. By the time Murphy got to the living room, Bellamy's shoes were off and he was shifting through the DVDs.

"Hey, freckles." He grabbed his drink, fitting his smaller body onto the other's lap.

"Hi, babe." Bellamy whispered, dropping his head to the crook of Murphy's neck. The latter boy struggled to ignore the butterflies that made their way to his stomach at the greeting. After all, Bellamy was just that kind of guy. "Octavia's wedding is this weekend, do you want to come with me?"

The realization hit him with the words. Strangers, friends, don't go to weddings together. They don't cuddle every night, sing taylor swift songs at three in the morning.

He had the urge to throw Bellamy out right then and there, but he was nowhere near as strong as he used to be. His energy disappeared at every hour of the day, and his loneliness soared. Leaving the house was an adventure that happened only once a week, to get the mail and take out the trash. He was dying and he no longer cared enough about his reputation to ignore what he wanted. 

And he wanted Bellamy.

 

// He'd seen Octavia many times in pictures that Bellamy showed him, but they were always stupid; posing in front of a spongebob statue, giant hot pink glasses on her face. He knew she had a kid, Bellamy had showed him pictures of that too. She had a fiance, named Lincoln.

What he hadn't known, was that her soon-to-be husband was Dr. Woods.

He'd thought that his aching and lethargy were going to be the worst parts of the otherwise sure to be lovely wedding, until he was finally introduced to the couple themselves and they'd both frozen.

"Do you two know each other?" Bellamy asked, an arm wrapping around Murphy.

Lincoln watches him carefully, waits for him to make the first move. He's really dizzy so it takes longer than it should to make a simple decision, but eventually he gets the words out. "No, but it is great to meet you." He smiles sweetly at the man he yelled at only a week ago for trying to keep him alive.

The older man merely puts on an equally fake smile and says "You too."

 

// He gets worse, does his best to ignore Bellamy. It gets to the point where he literally hides underneath his bed one time Bellamy walks in, coffee in hand no doubt. He pretends to not be home and he's pretty sure Bellamy only pretends to believe it. The second the older man is out the door, Murphy starts to cry. Tiny shuddering breathes giving way to sobs that Bellamy could probably hear across the street, because he was supposed to be John Murphy. The king of sarcasm, who hid from no one and fought everyone. And now he was hiding under his own bed, lying on his back like everything he used to hate.

 

// Bellamy lets this continue for two months, until Octavia's so upset that she tells him that Murphy is a patient; that Murphy is dying. Then he's barging into Murphy's home like he owns the place. Maybe he does. (Hes been bribing Murphy's landlord) And he's crying more than he is screaming and that just makes it all so much worse somehow.

"Why didn't you tell me, Murph?" And, fuck, he sounds as defeated as Murphy feels.

"I just..I couldn't," His voice cracks and he can't really breath, "I didn't want to drag you down. I thought you'd think I was a burden, a hopeless case." He doesn't say that that's what he thinks of himself, but Bellamy knows.

Bellamy always knows.

The elder calms himself down, smiles, says "A wise man once told me that the good outweighs the sad. And you, John, are so, so good."

His eyes tear up at that, because Bellamy was the good one here, good enough to call Murphy a 'wise man'; to ignore, forgive, all of the lies and pull Murphy into his arms. Good enough to whisper "I love you" into Murphy's hair; and good enough to mean it.

 

// Murphy takes all of Lincoln's recommendations to heart after that. Or at least tries to. He takes the pills, does the chemo, suffers through it all. Because he might want to live now. (He's still not sure)

 

// They get married in February. Octavia and Lincoln are in the wedding, and Lincoln has to act more like a nurse than a best man for most of it, but that's okay.

Bellamy helped him track Miller down, and so he's a best man too. It feels weak to have Miller see him like this, but he's been weak for a long time now.

(But he's also been happy)

 

// It all ended in April. Bellamy had quite work to take care of his husband, who could hardly walk by now, so it wasn't a surprise that they both slept in. Slept through breakfast, slept through morning, slept through death.

Somewhere around 10:30 Murphy stopped breathing. He felt the pain before that, but he clutched the arm that was wrapped gently around his middle and waited; listening to the breathe against his neck as he took his last one.

He knew the hundreds of letters that he'd given to Octavia and Lincoln a month ago would soon enough be returning to the home for Bellamy.

(Yes, he's been happy)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed. As always, kudos and comments are highly appreciated.
> 
> You can reach me for prompts or whatever else at my tumblr: devotedlydecaffeinatedtyrant


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